


Burns Night

by Thistlerose



Series: Midnight Conversations [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Food, Light Bondage, M/M, Marauders' Era, Oral Sex, Poetry, Scotland, Scottish Character, Sock Puppets, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackmail, kilts, food art, public sex, and poetry. Some national holidays are more fun than others.  Written in 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burns Night

**Part One: A Parcel of Rogues**

“You’re going to wear it, right, Moony?”

“Wear _what_?” Remus asked. Glancing over his parchment he noticed a few misspelled words, and reached for his wand. “ _Erado_ ,” he muttered.

“You know what,” said Sirius, nudging his knee under the desk. “It’s Burns Night. Are you wearing your kilt to dinner or what?”

“Definitely ‘or what,’” replied Remus, tucking his wand away in his pocket. He reached for his quill, but Sirius snatched it away. “Give that back,” said Remus patiently.

Sirius twirled the quill between his thumb and forefinger. “But it’s Burns Night,” he persisted. Without warning, he flicked the quill at Remus’ nose.

“So?” Remus wrinkled his nose and batted the quill away.

“So, you’re a Scot.”

“This is Scotland,” said Remus dryly. “There are many Scots here. They don’t all wear kilts on Burns Night. They don’t even all wear kilts. Give that back or I’ll hex you.”

“Maybe they should. All wear kilts. Not hex me. Put your wand away. Head Boy James will scold…”

“ _You’re_ the one being a prat.”

“So? I’m still his best friend.”

“And what am _I_?”

Sirius leered. To forestall a lewd comment, Remus fixed him with a wry smile and said, “Your lot forbade the wearing of the tartan, centuries ago, during the Highland Clearances.”

“Yeah, but we revoked it,” said Sirius, grinning and tilting his chair back so that it balanced precariously on two legs. “Realized what we were missing and came to our senses. You have to wear yours tonight.” 

Remus made a grab for the quill. Sirius quickly moved it out of his reach, and fell over with a loud crash. “If I wore it under my robes,” said Remus, while a red-faced Sirius picked himself and the chair up from the floor, “no one would know. Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” He said it quietly; they now had the attention of everyone in the Gryffindor common room.

Sirius turned to face his audience. Rubbing his arse, he executed a bow and received a smattering of applause. He turned back to Remus as though nothing had happened. “Not at all. _I’d_ know you were wearing it. And that would make me a very happy puppy.”

Remus snatched his quill from between Sirius’ fingers. “Then you can imagine me in my kilt, and I’ll wear trousers, and not freeze. It’s bloody January, I’m not going to supper in my kilt, with my bits and pieces hanging out. You _know_ what happens when a bloke gets cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” Sirius promised, his white, even teeth showing between his lips. 

“No,” said Remus. “What if there’s a draft?”

“We’ll be indoors.”

“In this castle,” said Remus knowingly, “drafts can come unexpectedly from anywhere.”

“True. But who would know you’re in a kilt, besides me, anyway? No worries from the Slytherins, and no one in Gryffindor cares a whit what you’ve got on under robes except me.”

“No,” said Remus emphatically.

“Why not?”

“Because I said no.”

Sirius smacked the desk in exasperation, causing Remus to smudge his work again. “Why did you even bring the bloody thing, if it’s just going to sit in your trunk and torment me?”

Remus looked up at him triumphantly. “You’ve just answered your own question, Padfoot.”

“Bugger this.”

Sirius left him then, scowling, and it did not occur to Remus until much later that there ought to have been more theatrics from a Sirius who wasn’t getting his way. By the time he realized that, of course it was much too late. He returned to the seventh-year boys’ dorm shortly before supper and found the note Sirius had left for him, Spell-o-taped to a bedpost. It read:

_Moony, I have Footpad, and if you ever want to see him again, you’ll wear your kilt tonight. Much love, Padfoot._

* * *

The great hall was crowded by the time Remus made it downstairs. Woefully conscious of the fact that he wasn’t wearing any pants, he kept his palms flat against thighs, though he knew that would avail him little if there _were_ a sudden draft. Torches sputtered as he hurried past them. _No drafts,_ he thought. _No drafts._

It was _cold._

The high table had been decked in tartan, and bouquets of bluebells, purple heather, thistles, and yellow gorse adorned the tables of the four houses. Remus’ fingers curled at his sides, though he reminded himself that he was not the only Scot at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall, he noticed, had a thistle pinned to her robe, and looked radiant as she sipped what was probably whisky, and chatted with Professor Flitwick. 

“Feel any drafts?” 

Sirius’ breath tickled his ear and Remus gasped as an arm snuck around his waist and hitched him close. Something fluttered in Remus’ belly. _I’m not wearing any pants. Under my robes, I am not wearing any pants. And he knows it, and his stupid cock is right there, and I’m not wearing any pants._

“Let go, someone’ll see.”

“In this mob?” Sirius snorted. “What does it matter, anyway? Everyone here knows we’re a pair of poofs. They’ve had a year to get used to the idea. Jealous, that’s what they are.”

“I doubt _that_ ,” said Remus, putting a hand on Sirius’ arm with the intention of peeling it away, but holding it instead, even traveling his fingers to the wrist and squeezing slightly. “But the thing is, it doesn’t matter what they know, as long as they don’t _see_. We can’t get in trouble if we’re not caught.”

“Oh, bollocks,” said Sirius. “Where’s the fun in that?” He leaned closer and kissed the side of Remus’ neck. “There, no one saw that. But I did it, and aren’t you glad I did? No one can see your kilt, either, but it’s there, isn’t it?”

“It’s there,” Remus said reluctantly as they made their way through the press of students to the Gryffindor table. _Everyone else here is wearing pants. If they’re not, I don’t bloody want to know. Pants_ , he thought. _You never know what you miss until they’re gone. I am in the middle of the great hall, without any pants on, because of a sodding sock puppet._

As they passed the Slytherin table, Remus could not help but notice Severus Snape eyeing them poisonously as he stabbed with his fork at the reddish-brown mass on his plate.

“You didn’t,” Remus whispered to Sirius.

“Didn’t what?” asked Sirius innocently. “Didn’t have a chat with the house elves? Didn’t spend my last detention planting ideas in McGonagall’s head? What?”

At that moment, a girl said shrilly, “If anyone thinks I’m eating this – this _slop…_ ”

Just two paces away from the safety of Gryffindor’s table, Sirius stopped. Remus tugged at his sleeve. “Don’t,” he pleaded. But Sirius had already turned, dragging Remus with him.

“Is there a problem, Narcissa?” he drawled.

In her fur-lined robe, with her small hands on her hips and her silver-blond hair falling halfway down her back, the girl would have resembled a porcelain doll if not for the sneer twisting her features. “As a matter of fact, yes,” she said primly. She smacked the table with her palm, causing her silverware to jump. “This is for _him_ , isn’t it?” She eyed Remus as though he were something particularly disgusting she had found on the bottom of her shoe. “You arranged this for _him!_ ”

“McGonagall arranged it,” said Sirius blankly. Remus hoped he would leave it at that, but the other boy seemed unable to stop himself from adding, “Of course, she might have arranged it _after_ we had a little talk, she and I. I am not without charm, after all.”

Narcissa wrinkled her nose. “You honestly expect me to swallow this…lumpy…horrible…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sirius said, with the innocent tone Remus knew to fear. He tugged on Sirius’ sleeve again, but the other boy held him firmly. “You’re in Scotland, you bloody bitch, it’s Burns Night, and in Scotland, people eat haggis on Burns Night. As for swallowing horrible lumpy things…” He shrugged, and Remus turned his face away. “That’s just something you’re going to have to get used to, isn’t it? You’re marrying Lucius Malfoy, aren’t you? Close your eyes and open wide, princess. Although, not _too_ wide, from what I hear.”

Narcissa shrieked. Remus turned back in time to see her seize her plate and hurl it at Sirius. Both boys ducked in time, and the plate and its contents went sailing through the chest of Nearly-Headless Nick, to shatter harmlessly on the floor. Narcissa shrieked again and stamped her foot, while Sirius rose, laughing, with Remus still clutched tightly against him.

Snape continued to stab his haggis savagely.

The commotion, Remus realized, had drawn the attention of nearly everyone in the great hall. The other students and professors had fallen silent. From the high table, Professor Dumbledore called cheerfully, “Brawling already? You can’t have pilfered the firewhisky from the kitchens _already._ The house-elves have just completed their inventory. No one here is _that_ fast.”

“Did you hear what he said?” James hissed as Sirius and Remus finally took their seats opposite him and Peter at the Gryffindor table. “It’s a bloody challenge, it is. Practically giving us the go-ahead, he was.”

“He was _not_ ,” Lily Evans remarked, a few seats down the table from James.

“Did you hear something?” James asked his friends loudly. “Because I’m quite sure I didn’t hear anything at all.”

Lily scowled, but when it seemed clear that James was determined to ignore her, she tossed her hair, turned to Alice Talbot and Jessica Costello, and began to chatter. 

“Anyway,” James said, leaning forward on his elbows, the torchlight making his hazel eyes glitter behind his glasses, “I think we’ve got our work cut out for us this evening.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Sirius corrected him, and poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. 

“Oh?” said James, skeptically. “Am I to understand you’ve got something more important to do?”

Sirius gulped his pumpkin juice, and nodded. “Much more important. I’ve got him.” He jabbed his chin in Remus’ direction. “We’ve got to celebrate Burns Night.”

Remus crossed his legs, and felt vaguely ridiculous. Still, he said with sincerity, “I just want to take this moment to announce that henceforth, I am no longer Scottish. Henceforth, I intend to honor my mum and be French for the rest of our good Mister Padfoot’s natural life.”

“And break your dad’s heart?” demanded Sirius indignantly.

“Mister Padfoot’s natural life may be shorter than he’d like,” observed James. “Um, mate, your tribute to Mister Moony may be heartfelt, but I think he’s the only one who appreciates it.”

“Not even he,” Remus murmured, scanning the rest of the table surreptitiously. In addition to haggis, there were platters of boiled turnips and potatoes. No one looked particularly happy with the fare. When Sirius and James were silent he heard the occasional complaint, and knew they were not coming solely from the Slytherin table.

“Excuse me,” said Sirius, “but whatever happened to

_Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,_  
That jaups in luggies;  
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,  
Gie her a haggis!” 

Remus looked at him. “ _Vas t'en,_ ” he said.

“That was French,” said Peter. “Sirius said something about Scotland, but it didn’t sound like English.”

“It _was_ English,” Sirius retorted. “Sort of.”

“Monsieur Padfoot,” said Remus sweetly, “ _Tu couches tout seul ce soir_.”

“That’s fine,” Sirius said. “I’ll just pick a French holiday, and tell the house-elves to serve escargot.”

“That’s snails, right?” inquired Peter.

“ _Oui,_ ” said Remus, through gritted teeth.

“I have no aversions to a French boyfriend,” Sirius said. “I’ll miss the kilts, but I don’t mind the kissing.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Who said anything about kissing? Who’s to say you’ll have any kind of boyfriend, French or Scottish, by the time supper’s done?”

Sirius smiled and set his goblet down. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to the other two as he began to rise, “I take my leave of you.”

“Where the bloody hell are you going?” asked James.

Sirius winked. “Secret mission.”

“You’re leaving me alone with a haggis?” said Remus.

Sirius patted his head fondly. “ _Mon petit chou_. I shall return.” With a dramatic swirl of his robes, he turned and strode away.

Remus shrugged and turned back to James and Peter. “He just called me his little cabbage. I have another proclamation. In addition to being French, henceforth I am straight.” He uncrossed his legs. “Mister Prongs, please tell me about breasts.”

“Breasts,” James sighed fondly. “Familiar territory, at last. Do you know how long it’s been since I had a meaningful, intellectual conversation with _anyone_ about breasts?”

“I still have Gwen Moffat’s bra,” Peter put in helpfully. “I know we broke up, but I felt weird returning it, so I just kept it. You can see it later.”

“Thank you, Wormtail,” said Remus, smiling. “I’m feeling more masculine by the minute. By the time Padfoot returns I’ll have forgotten I’m wearing a kilt.”

James snorted. “He talked you into wearing a kilt?”

“I was blackmailed. But you know,” Remus went on thoughtfully, “I feel _more_ masculine in my kilt. I’m just hanging out there.” With Sirius gone, he had room to spread his legs slightly. It was airy, but not at all unpleasant. “My masculinity is unconfined.”

While James sniggered, Peter picked up his fork and began to prod his haggis. “What _is_ this stuff, anyway? It’s food, right?”

“Sheep guts,” said Remus. “Stuffed with oatmeal and…I forget what else. Whatever Sirius may think, it is not a staple of my diet when I’m at home.”

Peter put his fork down.

“What’s the plural of haggis?” James wondered. “Haggi? Haggises?”

“I don’t know,” said Remus. “I suspect there isn’t one. Why would anyone want or need more than one haggis?”

“Art, of course,” replied James. He poked his haggis with his knife. “I could sculpt something out of this. It’ll go in a museum, and they’ll need to put the medium on a plaque, with my name.”

“It’s more like soggy meatloaf than clay,” said Remus. “I don’t think it will hold together well.”

“Nonsense.” He sliced the haggis in half and separated the two mounds. “This is going to be good. Wormtail, pass the neeps and tatties?” He raised his head; his eyes gleamed. “Merlin, I am _brilliant._ I’m going to call my masterpiece _Neeps and Titties._ I’ll have you straighter than straight in no time, mate.”

“We should make him eat them,” Peter said, sliding closer to James and watching with interest as art was made. “I know you want to keep them, but if he puts them in his mouth…”

“On second thought,” Remus began, looking away. He caught Lily’s eye and made a helpless face at her. Her eyebrows drew together, and she frowned sympathetically.

They had been fairly good friends during their first few years at Hogwarts, before James, Sirius, and Peter discovered his secret and decided that he was their exclusive property. 

Lily reached into her pocket and produced a foil-wrapped bar of chocolate. She glanced around to make sure no one but Remus, Alice, and Jessica were watching her. Then, surreptitiously, she broke off three pieces. She handed one each to Alice and Jessica, and popped the third into her mouth. Remus stared, his stomach twisting hungrily. Lily held up the remaining piece of chocolate and cocked her head questioningly to one side.

 _Yes, please,_ Remus mouthed. Girls were so much better than blokes, he decided. They did decent things, like giving you chocolate while you were starving and your idiot friends made crude sculptures out of their food. It was good he had been gay. He knew what boys were like; now he could appreciate girls all the more. _Girls_ , he thought somewhat dazedly. _Knockers. Fannies. Yes._ His parents would be surprised, but so very pleased. They liked Sirius, but he knew they still fantasized about grandchildren.

Lily winked, and slid her hand under the table. Remus shifted closer.

He froze when a hand cupped his knee. He looked sharply at James and Peter, but they were still bent over their creation, their hands in plain view. Lily couldn’t possibly reach that far. 

Another hand cupped his other knee, and pushed his legs wider apart.

“ _Sirius,_ ” he growled.

James glanced up. “Where?”

“Under the table,” muttered Remus. “He’s—” He closed his mouth and sat immobile as Sirius’ hands lifted his robe, and pushed it up over his knees. Cool air rushed between his thighs, followed by a puff of hot air – Sirius’ breath. He closed his eyes and put his hands, palms-down, on the table.

“Moony?” James said uncertainly.

“He’s…” The word hissed between Remus’ lips. Sirius’ shaggy hair brushed his thighs. His cock twitched. _Don’t you dare,_ he commanded silently, not sure if he meant his cock, Sirius, or both. _Don’t you dare, don’t you dare…_

Sirius dared. He bunched up the kilt, and Remus felt Sirius’ breath on his cock, enveloping it and sending up tendrils of heat from Remus’ loins to his cheeks. He folded his arms on the table, and dropped his head against them. “Should’ve known it was a sodding trap,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you should have,” Sirius agreed happily from under the table. He gave Remus’ cock a broad swipe with his tongue, and everything inside Remus trembled. He sucked in a harsh breath, and made a feeble attempt to close his legs, but Sirius held them firmly.

Around and above him voices buzzed. Alarmingly, one said, “He’s not under the table. Remus, I looked, and—“

 _Don’t look,_ Remus wanted to say. _Don’t look, you idiot_ , but Sirius was licking him daintily, almost delicately, and it was taking all of his strength and will not to break apart.

“Don’t look, you twat!” James hissed. “Honestly, Wormtail—“

“I just saw his legs! I’m not some bloody perv. There’s no one there!”

“That’s because he stole my Invisibility Cloak,” James grated. “That bastard stole my Invisibility Cloak. I’ll _murder_ him.”

“Shall I kick him?”

At that, Remus managed a grunt, which he hoped the other two would interpret as a _Don’t you sodding dare!_

Sirius’ laughter vibrated all around Remus’ erection. Remus squirmed in his seat, curled and uncurled his fingers, and bit his lips to hold back his moan. Sirius’ nails raked his knees as he licked him and kissed him and lapped at him. Something bubbled in Remus’ belly and rose, filling every chamber and vessel of him. His chest heaved. It was so _hot_ , but he couldn’t lift his hands to loosen his robe.

“Is he all right?”

 _A girl’s voice. Lily’s voice_ , he thought dimly. _Oh-no._

“He doesn’t look well at all. Are you ill? Remus? Remus!”

“He’s fine!” James burst out, desperately.

 _I am fine,_ thought Remus. _Fine, fine, fine. Sirius Black is giving me a blowjob under the table, in the middle of the crowded great hall, on Burns Night. Because of a sock puppet. All is well with the world._

Sirius closed his lips briefly around the head of Remus’ cock, and laughed again. This time Remus could not hold back a groan of pleasure. While Sirius sucked him into his mouth, inch by languorous inch, Lily said sharply, “He’s sick. It’s that stupid haggis. I’m getting a teacher.”

“No!”

James again. Sirius had Remus fully in his mouth by then, and was beginning to bob his head up and down. Remus dug his fingers into his arms. His trainers slid helplessly on the stone floor.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Lily again. _Lily, lily, lilylilylick…ohlick oh-_

“I mean, he’s perfectly fine.”

“He’s not perfectly fine, Potter.” Someone whose voice he did not recognize. Bugger. “Look, he’s practically having convulsions! Get a teacher.”

“No!” James again, wildly. The table shook as he shoved back the bench and lurched to his feet. “You can’t!” he shouted.

_A bit louder, Prongs. The Slytherins may not have heard you._

“You can’t,” James said hurriedly. “Lily—“

“I’m going, James. Maybe you don’t care two knuts about your friend, but I—“

“Lily! Wait! _Lily, I love you!_ ” The words sounded as though they’d been ripped from him.

Everything stopped. Even Sirius, who never stopped, stopped.

“I love you,” James said breathlessly – and loudly. “Lily Evans, I love you!”

“Professor Dumbledore, someone _has_ got into the firewhisky!” someone called from across the hall.

“I love you, Lily,” James went on, his voice ringing against the stones and through the rafters. Everyone in the hall seemed to have fallen silent. Remus, who had just about recovered his breath, lost it again when Sirius resumed sucking in earnest. One hand stole up his front to stroke and paw at his chest. The other slid between his legs and cupped his balls. Remus turned his head and watched as though through a thick, foggy glass, as James declared his love for Lily.

The girl seemed unimpressed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Haven’t you spent the past four months telling everyone who’ll listen that you’re finally over me?”

“Yes,” said Gryffindor collectively.

“I didn’t _mean_ it!” James insisted. “You were talking to me! It was nice! I didn’t want you to think I was still just trying to get into your knickers.”

“You’ve been trying to get into my knickers since fourth year!” she flung back at him.

Still holding Remus’ balls in his palm, Sirius spread his fingers and pressed the tips into the soft flesh. All but oblivious to the rest of the world, and so close to climax that reaching it and his release seemed the only things of any importance, Remus pushed forward with his hips. Sirius hummed in appreciation. Remus turned his face again and stifled a half-sob with his sleeve. He thrust again. Sirius met him, sucked him, and kneaded him. The torrent in Remus swelled until every part of him seemed close to bursting. He inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled, the deluge took him. Stars seared his vision and sizzled through him. He bit his sleeve. He shuddered. Tears leaked under his clenched eyelids and ran hotly down his cheeks.

Sirius released him slowly, licking soothingly as he pulled back, and stroked his thighs. “Moony,” he murmured. “My Moony.”

The voice drew Remus back to earth. He tried to lift his head, but his bones seemed to have been transfigured into lead. “I’m fine,” he whispered raggedly. “I’m fine. Tell them I’m fine.”

“No one’s even paying any attention anymore,” Peter informed him. “They’re all watching Prongs and Evans.”

Gradually, Remus became aware of the other people around him. Two were shouting. _James and Lily._

“Oh, _really_ , Potter? I find that hard to believe. You can honestly stand there and say to me—“

“Lily, I _am_ standing here, and I _am_ saying—“

“That’s the problem!” someone called. “You’re just standing there! Do something!”

“Grab her and kiss her already!”

“I must say it’s quite pleasant down here,” Sirius observed as he very kindly unbunched Remus’ kilt and drew it and his robe back over his knees. He laid his head on Remus’ lap. “I think I’ll stay here.”

Remus had just enough strength to unfold one arm, reach beneath the table, and slide his hand into Sirius’ hair.

“What’s Prongsy doing?” Sirius inquired.

“Nothing,” muttered Remus.

“Stupid bastard. He’s not nearly devious enough. I could’ve had her by now. If I weren’t madly in love with you.”

Remus smiled. He supposed he ought to be angry, but the afterglow of his orgasm still sang through him faintly. Some of the stars that had danced around him were still tangled in his lashes. When he opened his eyes, everything sparkled.

Lily said, her voice trembling slightly, “I really don’t understand you, James Potter. You spend three years trying to convince me that you want me. Last June you very nearly had me convinced you were almost a human being. You’re halfway decent in the letters you wrote to me over the summer. Then you come back here in September and tell everyone you’re over me and that’s that. Then you just jump up and announce that you _love_ me? In public!”

“Really, Miss Evans,” McGonagall began.

“Oh, no one’s killing anyone. Yet,” Dumbledore interrupted jovially.

“You know,” said Peter, “I think she _wants_ him to kiss her.”

“Of course she wants him to kiss her,” Remus said tiredly.

Sirius, merrily oblivious, rubbed his cheek against Remus’ knee and hummed. 

“He’s _going_ to kiss her!” Peter hissed excitedly. “Look!”

Remus still could not lift his head. He imagined James striding toward Lily while the crowd egged him on, and catching her by the wrist. The crowd began to cheer. Over that, Remus heard no screams and no sounds of slapping.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Peter. “It’s a nice kiss,” he reported. “She hasn’t tried to kill him or anything.” 

There was a warning shout, then a collective gasp, followed by a crash. 

“James!” Lily screeched. 

“Uh-oh,” Sirius laughed. “What’s happened?”

“Something’s hit Prongs,” Peter informed them, craning his neck to see better. “He’s fallen over. It just flew out of nowhere. Okay, no, it flew from the Slytherin table. They’re having a nice laugh, anyway. Ew, I think it was a haggis. It’s sort of…oozing down his face. He knocked over a pitcher and some goblets.”

“Is he all _right_?” asked Remus.

“It’s hard to see. Lily’s fluttering over him.” Peter snickered. “No, he’s twitching. He’s alive. He’s swearing. That’s a good sign. Here comes Madam Pomfrey.”

“Poor Prongs,” murmured Remus. 

In his lap, he felt Sirius’ head turn. Something floppy, battered, and woolen was pushed into his hand. Remus’ fingertips brushed the familiar velveteen ears, and the plastic button eyes. He smiled again, closed his hand around Footpad, and had an idea.

****

**Part Two: Vengeance**

“Good of Prongs to play up his injury and force Pomfrey to let him spend the night in the infirmary,” Sirius said. He shook his left wrist. “Secure. Bit tight, actually.”

“I don’t want you escaping,” Remus murmured. “Just once, I want complete control of you.” He picked up Sirius’ right wrist, held it against the bedpost, and looped his tie around it. “Lily makes exile sweeter. I’m glad they’re talking again.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be doing much talking,” Sirius said. 

“With a concussion?” said Remus skeptically.

“A mild concussion,” Sirius reminded him. “I’ve been in worse shape and got my oats.” He glanced up at his left wrist. “I admit I never intended Footpad to be used in such a manner.”

“Did you intend to barter him for sex?” Remus asked as he made a knot, tugged it to make sure it would hold, then, satisfied, sat back on the bed beside Sirius.

“Everything in existence,” Sirius informed him, “can and should be used to obtain sex.” His expression and his voice bespoke solemnly imparted advice. The fact that he lay naked in the middle of a dormitory bed, with his legs spread wide, his cock semi-erect, and his wrists bound to the bedposts by a tie and a sock puppet bespoke something entirely different. “Poor Peter,” he added unconvincingly.

“Poor Peter,” Remus agreed. “At least he’s got friends to take him in.”

“In Hufflepuff. Poor Peter.” Sirius looked at Remus. Wandlight danced in his pale blue eyes. “I may be giving the little rat too much credit, but how much do you want to bet he shows up tomorrow morning, having broken into the kitchens and raided the staff’s firewhisky?” 

“And stolen some girl’s bra,” Remus said, crawling between Sirius’ legs, and grasping him by the ankles. “He still has Gwendolyn Moffat’s. He said he’d show them to me, if I thought it would help make me straight.”

“Wasn’t Moffat the one who put you off girls, back in our second year when she fancied you and ran around calling you Reemie?”

“ _You_ put me off girls, just by existing.”

Sirius grinned. “Since when did Wormtail think he had a chance of straightening you out?”

“Since you abandoned me with a haggis this evening.” He pushed Sirius’ knees up against his chest and leaned over him. His cock slid against Sirius’. Heat blossomed all over his body. 

“But you like cock.”

“I do,” said Remus. “I love cock. It occurred to me, though, that anyone could do what you did this evening.”

“No, they couldn’t,” Sirius said confidently. 

“No?”

“No. What’s more, they wouldn’t.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“No,” said Sirius again, and shook his head emphatically. His eyebrows arched. “I know you better than anyone, and I know that deep down, you just want to tell the world ‘fuck you’.”

Releasing Sirius’ ankles, Remus leaned back, and reached for the bottle of lubricant that stood on the bedside table. There was a slim, leather-bound volume beside the bottle. He took both. “Not so deep down,” he murmured.

Sirius eyed the book amusedly. “After all this time, you need an instruction manual? Or are you going to try some deviant sex magic on me while I’m nice and trussed?”

“I’m going to do nothing of the sort,” retorted Remus, as he turned the weathered pages. “I’m not a perv.”

“No?” Sirius leered. “You’re the one who tied me up.”

“You’re the one who let me,” said Remus. “Here were are. Comfy?” he asked sweetly, as he arranged himself, cross-legged, on the bed.

“No,” said Sirius, suddenly sounding very wary. “Moony, what are you doing?”

“Celebrating a national holiday,” said Remus. “Listen, and be cultured.” He began to read:

_”O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,_  
That’s newly sprung in June;  
O my Luve’s like the melodie  
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.—“ 

He stole a glance at Sirius. The other boy was watching him in frank bewilderment. His mouth moved, but no sounds emerged. With his wrists tied, his legs tucked up against his chest, and his feet in the air, he looked almost comical. Remus cleared his throat, and continued:

_”As fair art thou, my bonnie lad,_  
So deep in luve am I;  
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,  
Till a’ the seas gang dry.— 

“I had to modify that stanza, of course,” said Remus. “Naturally, Burns was writing about a lass. Rather fond of the lasses, he was. But I, as you pointed out, prefer cock.” Not looking up from the book, he slipped one hand between his own legs, and touched the tip of his erection. It sent a jolt through him, but he held himself stiffly, and Sirius’ strangled whimper was worth his delayed pleasure.

“This is my favorite bit,” Remus said.

_”Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear,_  
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:  
I will luve thee still, my Dear,  
While the sands o’ life shall run. 

“Isn’t that pretty?” Remus sighed. “Remember when you wrote that bit out for me and slipped it under my pillow?”

“I take it back,” Sirius grumbled. “I take it all back. You’re an evil man, Remus Lupin. Evil, evil. I’m sorry about before.”

“I’m not,” said Remus calmly. “Shh, now. Only one verse left. In _this_ poem. Maybe we’ll read _Address to a Haggis_ next. I know you already know some of it, since you recited the ending at supper.” He stroked himself as he spoke. Lightly. This had to last.

“I hate you,” Sirius spat. “I really – Remus, _please._ I can’t –“ He strained against his bonds, tossed his head against the pillows, and gibbered miserably. 

“Shh.” Remus touched Sirius’ knee, and squeezed it soothingly. “One more stanza. Hold on just a little longer.”

A sound suspiciously like a sob broke from Sirius’ lips.

“Shh,” Remus whispered again.

_”And fare thee weel, my only Luve!_  
And fare thee weel, a while!  
And I will come again, my Luve,  
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!” 

Remus unfolded his legs, closed the book, and reset it on the bedside table. He looked at Sirius. The other boy was quivering, his face contorted. Quickly, Remus picked up the lubricant, which he had left lying on the sheets beside him, and coated his fingers and his erection. “Hold on,” he urged. “Just hold on, Sirius.” He lowered his lips to Sirius’ chest while, with his fingers, he gave the other boy a sampling of what was soon to follow.

There was little speaking after that. Remus’ lips and tongue were better occupied, and Sirius seemed not to have recovered the ability to articulate verbally. He groaned and he panted, twisted against the flannel sheets, and arched to meet Remus’ kisses. When he was certain Sirius had reached the edge of his endurance, Remus withdrew and slid up the other boy’s body to kiss his mouth. As he did, he raised his hips and pushed inside Sirius, as deftly as though they were interlocking pieces of the same puzzle. He swallowed Sirius’ moan, pulled out slightly, and then thrust in again.

“Nice,” he whispered. “So nice.” He opened his eyes, raised his head, and framed Sirius’ face between his hands. The blue eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. A flush played across Sirius’ cheeks, and his lips, swollen from kissing, were half-parted. “Beautiful, Padfoot.” Remus raked his fingers through the thick, black hair. “So beautiful.”

The world blurred as Remus gave himself entirely to the mechanics of fucking Sirius, to rhythm and sensation both tangible and emotional. The blossoms of heat became fireworks became stars and went spinning through him, spiraling from his core to his extremities, colliding, making galaxies.

Through his haze he became aware of another pair of pale blue eyes watching him. He frowned, a little confused, but he did not stop fucking Sirius, who had flung back his head and was lifting his hips to meet Remus’ thrusts. 

This second pair of blue eyes did not blink, but shone in the wandlight, and seemed to Remus almost reproachful in their immobility. “Padfoot?” he said uncertainly. The word bounced from his lips. 

“What?” Sirius sounded breathless.

“Padfoot, I think someone’s watching us. Stop a minute.” He stopped abruptly.

Sirius continued to push against him, first with momentum, then frustration. “Moony? What the fuck? Moony, are you all right?”

Remus stared up into the pale, plastic blue eyes. The pink velveteen tongue lolled. The black ears hung crookedly. Remus swallowed, and licked his lips. “Padfoot,” he whispered in a parched voice.

“ _What?_ ” Exasperation and desperation tinted Sirius’ voice.

“It’s Footpad,” Remus whispered. “It’s… I can’t explain it. He’s _looking_ at me and. I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” demanded Sirius. “You are _inside_ me. I blew you in the great hall, in front of everyone! Just keep doing what you were doing. Don’t even look at that sodding thing. It’s just an old sock.”

“It’s not an _it_. It’s Footpad. And he’s got eyes, and…” The giggle seemed to originate in Remus’ belly. He felt it rising, and thought there was only one. But when it popped from his lips it unleashed a flood. He flopped against Sirius, giggling madly, all but insensible.

He was aware, on some remote level, that Sirius was less than pleased with this development. The other boy shook beneath him, and Remus knew, in an extremely detached way, that Sirius was trying to shake _him_ to his senses. At some point Sirius might even have kicked him, or tried. For the moment Remus’ world was comprised of flying haggises – or haggi – vulgar sculptures made from mashed potatoes and turnips, kilts, tongues, supernovas, Robert Burns, and deeply disapproving plastic eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can’t even wank. Untie me, you idiot. Moony. I’m going to stuff that sock down your throat and strangle you with your bloody kilt.”

Remus burbled helplessly. Someone beneath him was thrashing and fuming, but the sightless blue eyes held his gaze. If anything was wrong with the universe, he could not imagine why that should be. His body tingled pleasantly; everything smelled of worn flannel, sex, sweat, clove cigarettes, and – for some reason – Sirius; he was warm. Footpad’s eyes, he realized, were not so much disapproving as commiserating. _Yes,_ they seemed to say to him. _It’s a mad world, Remus Lupin._

Sirius bellowed, “ _Severus! Gwendolyn! Albus! Minerva! Just the people I wanted to see!_ ”

Remus started.

“Will someone kindly get this wanker off me? And untie me? Because if I don’t get off _now_ , there will be a murder. As this useless twat, whom I in all my naivete mistook for a decent shag, happens to be the closest person to me – he’s _in_ me – it’s likely to be him. If I do not come in _one_ minute, come morning, there will be no more Remus Lupin. I know _plenty_ good places to stash the body, too.”

Remus tore his gaze from Footpad, and blinked down at Sirius. 

“ _Good evening_ , my dear,” said the boy whose legs were wrapped around his waist.

“I—“ Remus did not dare look at the sock puppet again. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “I just sort of…drifted off, didn’t I?”

“Fuck me,” Sirius growled. “Or _die_.”

Remus propped himself on his forearms and studied Sirius’ strained expression. He traced the other boy’s lower lip with his fingertip. “You’re hardly in a position to make death threats.”

“No,” grunted Sirius. “I’m in a position to be fucked. Look at me, Moony.”

“I _am_ looking at you.”

“ _Keep_ looking at me. There’s no one else here. Just me.” His tone softened. The blue eyes were as perfect as a summer sky, and flecked with gold from the wandlight. The crimson curtains that separated them from the rest of the world lent a rosy tint to his winter-pale skin. “Remember our first time? Neither of us knew what the fuck we were doing, so I just lay back and let you do what you wanted, and told you what worked and what didn’t? Remember that?”

Remus nodded.

“Want to do that again? We can, you know, if you’ve forgotten the basics.”

Remus laughed again, not hysterically, but knowingly. Lovingly. “I remember the basics,” he said, and kissed Sirius’ mouth. He curled an arm under Sirius’ shoulders, reached between their bellies with his other hand, and began to pump the other boy in time with his tentative thrusts. 

Sirius kissed him back voraciously and moaned in such obvious delight that Remus was emboldened and deepened his thrusts. Sirius came first, and his shout was almost a bark. Remus followed swiftly, and the power of his orgasm flung him against Sirius like a wave upon the shore. He lay gasping, all the fires, stars, and galaxies inside him smoldering. Sirius was speaking, just one word, over and over. It was several moments before Remus realized it was his own name. He smiled, and kissed Sirius’ cheek. “Beautiful,” he whispered again. “My bright star.” It was a nickname reserved for sex, and he felt the corners of Sirius’ lips curve upward at the sound of it.

“Remus.” Sirius rubbed his cheek. “Untie me. Please?”

“Hmm?”

“Please could you untie me? I can’t touch you.”

He sounded so plaintive. Remus had very little energy left, but he pushed himself up onto his elbows and reached for his wand. He had to withdraw, and he did so reluctantly. But once he’d grasped his wand he lost little time freeing the other boy, cleaning them both, and sinking back against him. Sirius’ wrapped his arms around him, and held him tightly.

“I love you,” Sirius said.

“I know,” said Remus. “I love you, too.” The words were still deliciously foreign to his lips, so he said them again. 

“Did you have a nice Burns Night?”

Remus stretched, and pillowed his head against Sirius’ chest. “I did,” he replied sleepily. “Better’n the ones I had as a kid. Haggis aside. Dad just used to read Burns to me and Mum. A man’s a man for a’ that. An’ there was one about two dogs. And then we’d go t’see the fireworks. Was nice.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s fireworks were all right, weren’t they?”

“They were nice, too.”

Sirius stroked him once more, then stilled his hand. “Fireworks for poets. I like your customs, Moony.”

“My customs?” Remus kissed Sirius’ shoulder. “You make it sound like they’re just mine.”

“Your people’s, then.”

“My people. M’just Scottish. You make me sound exotic. Strange. An’ rare.”

Sirius murmured in his ear, “You are.” 

12/20/04


End file.
